


It's Your Party–So Why Am I Crying?

by sans_souci2



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Slash, post episode23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:22:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sans_souci2/pseuds/sans_souci2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve gets out of Halawa, Danny picks him up.</p><p>Some parties get off to a rocky start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Your Party–So Why Am I Crying?

 

Late afternoon heat makes the air over Halawa shimmer.

A row of clouds on the horizon looks ready to roll in and crash the party; it's hard to tell if they’ll just dial back the heat or actually drench the good times. Coils of barbed wire along the top of the chain link fence and   **No Tresspassing** signs every ten feet glint and glimmer in the sun- party decorations courtesy of the Department of Corrections .

Danny’s been pacing in front of the gate for nearly an hour.

Trust this shindig not to kick off on time.

Dark rings of sweat under his arms dampen the dress shirt that he took a ridiculously long time to pick out this morning. He looks down at himself and shrugs. There's no way he’s not going to sweat through whatever he’s wearing -not even if he sat in his air conditioned car right up until show time.

Not today.

A clanging bell suddenly shatters the silence.

His heart's instantly in his throat and he can't move. He stares through the fence, fingers gripping chain link, eyes locked on a set of steel grey double doors.

If he bites his lip any harder it's going to bleed. 

When the bell stops clanging, the doors open.

 It’s like he's watching the opening scene of a bad movie.

It kills him to see Steve being forced to play a cheesy cliché complete with a paper bag of belongings under his arm and a stern looking guard by his side.

What the hell is there to guard?

Go back inside moron.

He’s bulked up. That’s the first thing he notices.

Funny how much that baggy orange jumpsuit had hidden. 

His biceps bulge under the long sleeves of a black Henley. His thighs strain against black denim.  God damned Ninja suit. The sight of it makes his stomach clench. Swear to God he never wants to see it on him again.

There's something else he never wants to see again- his hair, barely there, just short stubble.  So was it lice again or was it his choice this time?

He tells himself it'll grow back fast. 

He tries to make eye contact but Steve’s are focused on the guard’s hands as he unlocks the gate. His whole body is ambush-ready just in case someone is stupid enough to try and call off his party.

When the gate swings open he finally looks up.

That face.

Oh God.

Still so achingly handsome it puts butterflies in his gut.

But that expression?   

No way a guest of honor should look that grim.

The guard mumbles some kind of gruff warning and holds the gate open. Damned if Steve doesn’t say “Thank you,” as he walks through. 

Manners, McGarrett? Seriously?

When you're getting out of fucking prison?

Thinking the friendly little rant in his head loosens the knot in his chest just enough to be able to smile. Two seconds later having Steve suddenly right there in front of him ties his tongue up like he’s a ten year old in front of his sports hero. “So … you’re ... out?”

Now who sounds like a moron?

“Yeah. Looks that way.” Steve's boneless shrug and wisp of a smile are both hesitant. There's a hint of pain in the way he holds himself and the way he inhales. For a second the only thing moving is their eyes–blinking hard to telegraph feelings that won’t find words until so much later.

“Well I guess you … want to get the hell out of here?”

Steve's smile is a little less unsure, but still wobbly, “Yeah ... I guess I do.”

“So what are you waiting for? Here, you want to drive?” He holds out his keys, gritting his teeth because suddenly he feels like ... crying? 

“Yeah," Steve’s shoulders relax just a little, "I do want to drive.”

The look on his face is a little closer to something you might actually see on a happy person. It does something to Danny's chest and eyes and suddenly he’s yammering, "Christ, I got to be the biggest idiot in the world … letting a freaking ninja drive my car. I must have a death wish ... or something.” The words bubble up on their own–no way he’s capable of any real thinking.

Not when he’s fighting tears like a damn girl. 

They buckle their seatbelts but Steve’s legs are crammed up against the steering wheel and he undoes his belt to adjust the seat. Danny sees him grimace as it goes back and sees the tremor run down his cheek and wants to punch his fist through the dashboard. Instead more words slip out of his mouth. This time the pauses are longer and the delivery shakier, “Go a ... head, let’s hear the ... jokes about … about my diminutive stat … ure.”  

The aching sob he’s managed to hold off for so long threatens to strangle him if he doesn’t give in.

And so he does.

A big huge shuddering sob rolls over him like a freight train, “Oh God." His shoulders shake and his chest heaves and he can't stop. He just can't.  It's a keening, ragged kind of crying powered by eight months of gut wrenching pain and sleepless nights. Somehow he manages to hiccough apologies between sobs“I’m sorry ... I was just, so God damn worried and ... I ... Christ, I missed you ... so damn much.”

He can't stop crying.

Steve's not crying but his eyes fill and his face twists with emotion, “ Danny," he says. Just, "Danny." Then he reaches over.

The hug he wraps around Danny is suffocatingly good and the rock hardness of his chest is pure heaven. Danny would happily stay right there leaning over the gear shift with those arms wrapped around him forever.  He stays a good long while- even after he gets his tears under control, pressed against Steve-drinking in the feel and smell of him.

“It’s okay Danny ... it’s ... over “

And the sound of him.

Steve’s voice low and gruff, rumbling through his chest is the most incredibly wonderful thing he’s ever heard.

Ever.

Finally they break away and sit back.

Shaking his head he wipes at his cheeks and nose and sniffs, “Christ look at me. What a piece of work I am. You're the one who's been locked up and I’m crying like a baby.”

Steve huffs a little snort, his eyes shining unnaturally bright, “Hey don't worry. It was hard on you too, D.” Then a sly little smile starts to tug on the corners of his mouth, “After all, you’re very sensitive.”  

The McGarrett million dollar smile suddenly breaks out like sunshine during a rainstorm.

And suddenly Danny’s laughing and crying at the same time and Steve’s chuckling and grinning and turning on the ignition and fuck if it doesn’t finally feel like a real party.

“I’m sens … itve ?” he chokes out, laughing so hard his stomach aches. “Oh man, here we go again. I’m sensitive?” Then he's crying again- a silly shoulder shaking giggly kind of cry with a sound coming out of his throat like an engine that won't turn over.

Tears stream down his face. 

Steve is laughing now. Out right laughing.  He reaches over and squeezes Danny’s leg, smiling honestly and beautifully and looking like he really believes this nightmare is over. He keeps his hand where it is, just holding onto him as they pull out onto the highway.

Still wiping tears off his face and trying to get his breath, Danny manages to point at the dash, "Radio?”

“Nah, let’s just … drive,” Steve says, running his thumb back and forth over Danny's thigh, “like this.”

“Yeah … let's."

Head back against the seat, eyes closed, Danny shifts luxuriously– like he’s just slid under the covers of the softest, warmest bed in the world.

It really was over. 


End file.
